


Wedding Guests

by samanthalo



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthalo/pseuds/samanthalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The couple sitting in the back of the chapel are the only ones in the last pew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Guests

The couple sitting in the back of the chapel are the only ones in the last pew. The rest of the crowd pushed forward early, filling the first few rows to near bursting within moments of the doors opening. Those who were not prompt enough to get a spot on those enviable benches lean forward over the backs of the pews in front of them to try and catch a better glimpse of the ceremony. There is beautiful music filling the vaulted ceiling. The couple in the back pew can barely see the choir, high in the dome above the altar, but they can hear the sweet singing perfectly. A thrill shoots through them, along with the rest of the audience, as the lead soprano hits just the perfect note and holds it, clear and ringing, before all the singers come together in a low, thrumming harmony.

  
“Did you see her as she came in?” The woman asks, leaning and whispering to the tall, broad-shouldered man beside her. He grins through his sandy beard. She can barely see it through the curled mass of hair.

  
“Of course I did. Everyone sees the Bride when she first arrives.”

  
“I know, but did you see how beautiful she was?” The woman sighs and smiles widely. It's a lovely smile, all peach lips and rounded cheeks, and it hitches up a little higher on one side. “Oh, it reminds me of our wedding day. Do you remember?” She twists her neck, long thin braid falling into her lap as she tries to get the man to look at her. He teases for a moment, stretching his neck, round brown eyes focusing on the couple getting married. She tolerates his forced ignorance for only so long before softly digging an elbow between his ribs.

  
“You know I do.” He says gently, taking her hand in his to remove the sharp joint from his side. The woman rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but tightens her grip around his mittens.

  
“It was spring-”

  
“The best time to get married.”

  
“New beginnings.” Their eyes drift together knowingly as the priest begins. His wizened voice easily carries over everyone as he offers insight to the nature of love, the bond between husband and wife. As he drones on, everyone is given the opportunity to watch the happy couple situated on the carpeted steps. The groom is obviously nervous. His back is stick straight, as if someone had affixed a pole beneath his clothes and tied him tightly to it. Those closer to the altar can see his hands shaking slightly where they're holding his bride's. She, however, seems cool as a winter's night. Smiling brightly, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes are fixated on those of her soon-to-be-husband, sparking each time the priest says something she finds meaningful or humorous. Every so often, she moves, a little fidget, as if quickly shifting her weight from one foot to another.

  
“You wore your grandmother's dress.” The man glances sidelong at the woman beside him, squeezing her hand as he remembers seeing her that cloudy afternoon in May. She's older, a different person than she was then, but when she smiles at him like she is now he can see the young woman who stole his heart all those years ago.

  
“You had your father's sled.” The woman shifts closer, the leg beneath her dark navy dress bumping into his, the curled toe of her boot hooking over his own. He stifles a deep chuckle and releases her hand to throw one massive arm around her. The priest ends his opening remarks and a young blonde woman wearing a silver crown momentarily takes his place. She reads from the massive Bible set before her, but her voice is quiet, as if she isn't used to speaking before such large crowds. They can just barely hear her as she recites the passage. When finished, she steps around the podium to kiss the bride, enveloping her in a long, tight hug. She then turns to the groom, laughing a bit when his embrace nearly swallows her much smaller frame. There is a hushed ripple of emotion through the congregation as they part and the woman desperately rubs at her watering eyes with a single, elegant finger. A rotund man beside the door just behind the, blows his nose into a handkerchief.

  
“Our ceremony wasn't nearly this long.” He observes as the priest returns to the podium and launches into another treatise on the sanctity of marriage. The woman surveys the chapel around them and nods distractedly, attention drifting forward to the couple as they begin to exchange vows. The groom's voice catches, breaks momentarily, as he repeats after the priest. There is a swell of affection inside of her as he grips the bride's hands tighter and leans forward just slightly when he makes the final pledge, until death do they part. At this, the man pulls her into his side tightly and she feels the heavy weight of his head as he lays it upon her own.

  
“He looks so happy.” She whispers. Her voice is thick and raspy. He doesn't reply. He just holds her close, intertwines their fingers and locks their hands together, as the bride answers back unflinchingly.

  
“She's spirited. Who does that remind you of?” He murmurs into her blonde hair.

  
“You were the rebellious one.” She reminds him. She tries to wipe away her tears in secret but suddenly he's passing her his ragged handkerchief and she starts crying in earnest. The couple are sliding rings onto each other's fingers and the priest is winding up for big finale. Everyone scoots forward on their pews, excitement rising as he announces them wed and gestures with pleased look from the groom to the bride. The groom might have been nervous, but he sweeps his wife into his arms like no one's watching, and their kiss draws an eruption of cheers and applause.

  
The couple stand along with the rest of the people around them. She claps in between dabbing her eyes and nose, sniffling even as her husband presses himself into her back. His hands are strong and solid on her waist as they move forward to the end of their row to eagerly await the newlyweds as they exit.

  
Kristoff and Anna are moving quickly down the aisle but time seems to slow as they pass the last pews, the doors leading out to the courtyard opening before them. The woman stares wide-eyed as her son walks by. He's taller than she expected, with strong, wide shoulders and a healthy, fit physique. He is the spitting image of his father, except in the way he smiles. His lopsided grin is all hers and so is his laugh. She greedily takes in all she can of him in the short moment, eyes roving over the way the jacket doesn't quite fit across his broad chest, or how there is a subtle dirt stain on the right knee of his pants. It takes all of her strength to stop from reaching for them. Her husband helps. He wraps a strong arm around her when she flinches forward.

  
He is gone, wife in tow, before she even realizes she's moved. The beautiful blonde woman who had read during the ceremony follows at a moderate distance, carrying her sister's long, shimmering lace train. She greets the round man who had stood guard at the door the entire time. He falls in beside her. The congregation unfolds behind, each row emptying in polite but anxious stages. The couple waits in their back pew, watching as everyone shuffles out the double doors, into the radiant May sunshine.

  
“He's handsome.” She says through happy tears.

  
“He has your sense of humor.” Her husband ruffles the top of her head. She pushes his hand away and replaces it around her waist.

  
“He looks just like you.”

  
“But he has your smile.” She chokes back another sob. “Please don't cry.” His beard scratches the soft side of her face as he bends to give her a delicate kiss on the cheek.

  
“I'm sorry, I just...” She turns away slightly, gathering her self, “I've just always been worried about him. It's such a relief...to find that I didn't have to.” She looks up across the aisle and the dwindling line of people passing through to find another couple in the opposite pew. The man is wearing a stiff military uniform. The medals shine brightly in the reflected light from the sky blue glass windows. Everything about him seems polished, refined, but his blue eyes are kind and just as misty as her own. A small woman with tightly coiled brown hair stands beside him, a delicate hand to her breast. She watches the people go by with polite interest, but soon enough, catches sight of them between the moving bodies.

  
The man bows slightly and the woman at his side follows suite. When the last person has moved through the doorway, he escorts her out onto the velvet aisle-runner. His eyes are a striking shade of blue and she thinks of the blonde girl and her son's new wife. She inclines her head in return, watching as they disappear into the blinding beams of light from outside.

  
“Let's go, love.” Her husband pulls at her elbow and she lets him direct her out into the aisle. She turns to take in the chapel once more. A few of the choir members are still milling about in the rafters. Closing her eyes, she hears their soaring voices once more and feels her heart once more become full.  
“Yes. Let's go.”

 

* * *

 

That night, content as a cat with a warm bowl of milk, Kristoff lays in a perfect state of wakefulness and sleep, his wife curled tight against his side, and thinks back on his day and the strange moment in the chapel where he thought he saw a very familiar looking pair of people in the back pew. He can't place them. He sees them as if through water. But there is a happy, warm feeling spreading through him. Kristoff rolls over against Anna's soft body and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading my other work. I keep getting stuck on my longer story so I keep writing smaller works to get the creative juices flowing. So, sorrynotsorry for the feels.


End file.
